


Birth of a Devil

by Mouser26



Series: The Series of Blood [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Language, Mercenaries, Murder, they don't make very good parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:32:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouser26/pseuds/Mouser26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a child is raised by some really twisted people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birth of a Devil

Hyena growled .  
“This is bullshit.”  
That was an understatement of course.  
The mission had been simple in its vagueness, get in grab the hostages and kill anyone who got in the way.  
Bullshit would have been their cars exploding and their radios breaking.  
This was both of those and a fucking herd of mewling brats, thirteen of them to be exact, because that wasn’t apt or anything.  
Her people were agents of red, fucking mercenaries with uniforms the color of the blood they were paid to spill.  
This wasn’t bullshit it was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. and of course her men were looking to her for orders.   
“So what are you fuckers waiting for? Kids are just smaller pack mules, salvage as much ammo and grub as you can. Older kids either carry the smaller ones or no less than ten pounds of food. Load down and move out in fifteen.”

*~*~*

No one talked about it.  
When the food had run out and the first had died, hunger had held their tongues as the blade was raised.  
Parched throats oiled with red still held tight any protests in favor of survival.  
No one thought about it  
They concentrated on full mouths and fuller bellies, not where the fresh meat had come from.  
That the children who had been listless now begged for more with rosy cheeks.  
They chose not to see.  
A toddler thought to be dying suckle happily at an offered morsel with unwavering focus.  
The bone deep bites that marked all but one hand to feed him.  
They didn’t speak.  
They didn’t think.  
They didn’t see.  
Only later did they regret.

 

*~*~*  
“So Doctor Death what’s the problem with the freaky little shrimp?”  
“The subject suffers from marfan syndrome as exhibited by his clear cases of dolichostenomelia, arachnodactyly, and pectus carinatum with hypermobility of the joints. It’s very likely there will be cardiovascular complications, impaired breathing and ocular degeneration.”  
Hyena shot the doctor a withering look over the exam table where the cadaverous looking rug rat snored oblivious to cold metal under his bare back.

“English you fucking quack.before you end up as cold as your patients.”

The Britian sighed lowering his chart and looking down at the boy, “It’s a time bomb. This boy is a wreck, hence his ribs trying to burst out of his chest, everything about him being too long and-” a louder snore as the boy turned over, “that.”

“And he can’t be defused either, best we can do is treat him as he gets sick and he’s still probably going to drop dead before thirty because you people give me shit to work with.”

“You’re choices were this or a eight by six with no one to murder.”

“I murdered no one!”

“Mercy kill, murder same shit different name.”

The older man glared, “Never the less it seems a fitting you bring the matter up. In easy terms for you to understand, this is a very sick puppy and it may be best it is put down.”

“Fuck off Doc.”

A monster.

That’s what they called the bitey little welp.

She could see it, the brat had hardly an ounce of fat on him all angles and bones where most toddlers looked like piglets, but something about those eyes refused to go dim even when he had been as starved as he looked. 

No one was ever going to take it, some of the locals even started talking about the demon spawn living with the red coats.

“Talon go find a butter box.”

“A butter box sir?”

Hyena smacked the rookie hard enough to make the man stumble. “Yes shitforbrains a butter box, a milk crate, something the brat can sleep in and not roll off.”

“We can’t keep it!”

Another smack this time hard enough to put the man on his ass, “Did I ask your opinion limpdick? Just get a fucking box we’ll either bury it soon enough or we got a new mascot.”

*~*~*

Eyes the color of old blood followed the doctor carefully as the older man approached looking meaningfully from the plate to the boy as he came to stand with only the small table between them.   
“Eat.”  
“NO!”  
Getting any child to eat their vegetables was more often than not a battle of wills won in the span of a meal.  
This battle had been going for a day and a half already, and the only changes were the additional servings which had been added to the boy’s plate when his milk was refreshed.  
The chains keeping the boy in his seat rattled as he bared his teeth, a gesture which was made only slightly less intimidating by the absence of several baby teeth.  
“Eat.”  
“Make me!”  
The slap that followed the challenge snapped the boy’s head to the side.  
At first he seemed confused at his new position, but he quickly turned back to snarl again.  
A second slap came down on the other cheek with more force.  
This time the boy was quiet as he turned back to his ‘captor’.  
“Eat.”  
“No-” the protest died a quick death as another blow fell.  
“Eat.”  
A tense moment passed between the two challengers.  
Then a small bony hand raised up, skipping over the blunted cutlery , and proceeded to shovel spinach into a reluctant but open mouth.  
“Milk too.”  
Mutinous eyes hardened as the boy chewed but once again any protest went unvoiced as he drank down the beverage.  
“Now you will be receiving these same servings with your regular meals from now on, you will eat them.”  
The boy nodded his jaw clenched.  
“Good. Now time to go get cleaned up and stretch outside in the sun.”

*~*~*

The boy stared at the missionary, that had cornered him on the edge of the red base, trying to decide what to make of the odd words coming from his mouth, “Huh?”  
“I can’t believe how poorly you’ve been treated!”  
“Huh?”  
“Just look at you! You’re half starved, hardly clothed, why I bet you haven’t ever even been to school!”  
“Huh?”  
“And look at the knife! A child like you shouldn’t have a weapon like that!”  
The nine year old looked at the ulu in his hand and back to the man who had taken a step closer, “Why?”  
“Because it’s not safe for you, now give me the knife. ”  
“No.”  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man coaxed as he edged closer, “just give me the knife and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”  
“No, I’m not going.”  
With an exasperated sigh the missionary made a sudden lunge for the blade, gasping wetly as red blossomed at his throat.  
The boy didn’t move as arterial spray showered him in blood, watching as the man collapsed with a gargle.  
Licking his lips the boy’s eyes lit up, as he knelt beside the corpse, he knew that taste…  
“Pup what did you do?”  
Turning his head the boy smiled at superior “He was trying to take my ulu! And Then he was gonna take me to live with god or something. I killed him.”  
“So you did, have you checked the body yet?”  
“No Hyena, I tasted his blood, I know that taste. I‘ve tasted that taste before…”  
“Yes you have. You’re alive because we fed you longpig as an infant.”  
“Longpig?”  
One tanned finger pointed to the body before them, “Longpig. Human meat. Now check the body brat.”  
Still licking his lips the boy nodded as he started to strip the cooling corpse.  
Small hands stilled as he turned the man over revealing an elaborate tattoo across his back.  
“Looks like preacher boy wasn’t always so godly.”  
The image was of a somewhat horse faced demon with long limbs and bladed tail crouching over a pile of bones at it’s feet, bat-like wings spread wide.  
“What is it Mama Hyena?” The boy chirped a finger tracing the creature’s glowing eyes.  
“I think it’s a Jersey Devil, see the chimney behind it?”  
A bony hand lifted the ulu once more are with the greatest care began to cut the ink from the body.  
“A souvenir?”  
The boy nodded quietly his mind elsewhere in thought, “I like it.”  
The head of the South African Base nodded in return, “Whatever you say Jersey, be sure to ask Tanner how to preserve that.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the record the butter box comment is a reference to some rather dark Canadian history.
> 
> This is the start of a series of Stories involving a very diverse cast.   
> That's right the pre-pubescent cannibal is just the start.  
> Always looking for interest or questions that may need answering.


End file.
